Playground Rules
by anilkex
Summary: A sick Sam fluff piece based on a prompt from an LJ meme. Sam is recovering from a bad bout of the flu, and Dean has to manage cranky Sam while looking for a hunt they can handle. Some language, all cute. Chapter 2 added by request! Dean is recovering and Sam has to manage him.
1. Chapter 1

It's been two weeks since Sam went down with the flu. Two weeks of cold, wet cloths, Tylenol popping, and boxes of tissues. It's also been two weeks since Dean relaxed. Two weeks of sleepless nights, late night coffee runs, and frazzled nerves.

This one was worse than it's been in a while. Sam spiked a fever at 104 and held it for over a day. He was in and out of lucidity, calling occasionally for Dad, Jess, even Bobby. He never called for Dean...that need was expressed as an undercurrent of whimpers and pleas, as if telling the world that Dean was the constant he just simply had to have there all the time.

Dean can handle almost any illness or injury Sam tossed his way, but it was the fevers that broke him. While he had a list of medicines and tricks he could use in an attempt to control them, what he couldn't control, was the affect they had on Sam….how they made him feel, what they made him think. During those moments, Dean felt the most helpless. All he could do is sit and watch, blotting Sam's face with cold, wet washcloths while murmuring what he hoped were soothing words all night long.

But Sam's on the mend now, which in Dean's mind, means that the danger had passed. Now he can go back to being annoyed with his grumpy, leaking brother, and he liked it that way.

"Dean. The fever broke. I'm feeling better. Let's get outta here." Sam was sitting in bed, wiping his nose with a wad of tissues. He looked like he hadn't slept much, even though he's been mostly bed-ridden for the past week.

Dean sat at the room's little table, reading an email from Bobby which listed a bunch of hunts, all within a day's drive from them, that they could potentially investigate. He tapped his finger against the laptop, contemplating how to respond. Yes, Sam was doing better and yes the fever was gone, but no, his brother wasn't up for a major hunt of any kind. No matter what he said, he was still weak and tired. Sam was only focusing on the fever. Dean was focusing on everything else.

"I want to stay put for another day...make sure that fever's really gone. Then we'll find us a hunt and move on, ok?" He figured that was as good a stall as any.

He was wrong.

Sam huffed through his nose (which didn't really work when your nose was clogged) and he ended up coughing into the tissues he was clutching. He shook his head and sputtered, "I know I'm not perfect yet, but - "

Dean sighed and dragged his hand down his face. "Shut up, Sam. We're staying put another day. End of discussion." He knew his tone would evoke the SamBitch, but he had no choice. He wasn't putting Sam out there just yet, and that was final.

Sam scoffed in protest, and stomped his way to the bathroom, slamming the door. Dean rolled his eyes. In many ways, twenty-three year-old Sammy was just as bitchy as 10 year-old Sammy. Luckily, Dean knew the drill - he would simply take the heat because that's what he had to do. He was okay with that...he's been doing it since he was six.

By the time Sam came out, Dean had pulled up some maps and was going through Bobby's list. He glanced up as Sam moved about the pseudo-kitchen area, banging cabinets and slamming drawers while muttering to himself about overprotective assholes and why said assholes had a problem with carrying around one lousy mug for tea, considering they carried a ton of other stupid shit all the time.

Dean momentarily closed his eyes and summoned all his inner patience to play nice with his mouth so he wouldn't say something stupid. Sam didn't seem to notice that Dean was sleep-deprived, and therefore grumpy, and Dean was working hard to keep it that way.

Dean read about the first hunt...a black dog in a forest somewhere in central Wisconsin. He looked up at Sam, who just zipped up his hoodie and was shivering in it as he boiled water for some tea. Wisconsin. In November. When it's snowing and cold. Yeah, that's not gonna happen. He crossed it off the list.

The next available hunt was a poltergeist that was wreaking havoc in a daycare. Dean jumped as Sam sneezed ferociously into a (presumably fresh) handful of Kleenex. He ripped off six more before finally stopping, leaning against the counter and panting. He threw the now wet tissues in the garbage, and carefully washed his hands in the sink with a lot of soap. So...a daycare, during cold and flu season. Yeah, that's not gonna happen. He crossed it off the list.

The next one caught his eye - vampire nest in some old abandoned mansion. There were about seven vamps there, give or take a couple, which on a normal day, the brothers could easily handle. Dean smiled to himself while remembering how adept Sam was with the machete, knowing precisely the angle the machete needed to be so that their heads would come clean off. It was tricky to find the right spot, but with practice and a steady hand, it wasn't hard to do.

A sneeze followed by a yelp startled him, and he saw Sam still in the kitchen, sucking on the back of his hand.

"What happened?" Dena asked, rising to help.

Sam waved him back into his seat. "It was stupid...I sneezed while holding the mug, and I spilled hot tea on myself. That's all."

Dean sat back down. "Sure you're okay?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I spilled tea, Dean, not start the apocalypse." He took two steps before tripping on his own feet and stumbling the rest of the way to the bed. Sam managed to angle the mug "just so", compensating for the clumsy movement of his body. He made it to the bed and placed the mug on the bed-side table, flashing Dean a sheepish smile. "Didn't spill!"

Dean sighed. Vampire kills requiring timing and precision. Off the list.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes. He needed a nap...just for a few hours...to slip under the covers, close his eyes, and sleep.

Sam was restlessly moving around, trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed he'd been stuck in for over a week. He fluffed pillows and rearranged sheets before loudly sighing, grabbing his mug of tea, and burrowing deep under the blankets.

Dean opened one eye and peeked at Sam, who was sipping his tea while casting sullen glances in Dean's direction.

Dean took a deep breath. He had to find something to get them out of this room. He wiped his hands on his jeans, and read over the last hunt on Bobby's list.

Benevolent spirit of an old lady...spotted roaming the halls of the retirement home she lived in, occasionally knocking bottles of medicine onto the floor.

"Hey, Sammy…."

==end==


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A Guest review asked for a second chapter. At first I was like...a second chapter of a oneshot of fluff? Then I was like...ooooh wait...

Disclaimer: I own nothing - I just like to play.

xxxxx

It's been two weeks since Dean caught the flu from Sam. Two weeks of constant sneezing, coughing up green junk, and a crushing weariness that sucked the life from him. It's also been two more weeks where Sam was still recovering from his own illness. Two more weeks of a lingering scratchy throat, post-nasal drip, and a feeling that he wasn't quite one hundred percent.

The restless spirit of that sweet old lady was _actually killing people_. Dean said she was just knocking over medicine bottles and wandering around. Turns out, she was spilling, hiding, and destroying flu vaccines and medication, so the virus was rampant in the building.

Taking her out wasn't too terribly difficult - although he had to admit that watching a nice old lady go up in flames was a little difficult to watch. What was more difficult, though, was watching Dean succumb to the flu. He was exposed to the virus already from taking care of Sam. He knew Dean had gotten very little sleep, was wracked with worry due to Sam's really high fever, and stressed out from Sam's general bitchiness afterwards. Add investigating a hunt in an enclosed space filled with contagious sick people, and….yeah.

Dean didn't have a chance.

Still. It's been two weeks, and Dean's now on the mend. Sam's hoping they can both get caught up on rest and kick this virus' ass once and for all. But Dean's restless, and wants to get back on the road, despite Sam's insistence they're not ready.

"Sammy...c'mon, man. I'm going crazy here. Let's just…._go_."

Sam was sitting at the little round table in their motel room. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching a little. "Dean, I'm going crazy, too. But we should take it easy for at least one more day."

Dean huffed, which turned into a cough that he smothered into his comforter until he was breathless.

Sam looked pointedly at him. "See? That right there is why we're staying put."

Dean gave Sam a sour look and pointedly spit into the trash can.

"Oooo-kay...we're never getting better." Sam muttered as he wiped his nose with a Kleenex and sighed.

"This sucks." Dean threw the covers to the side of the bed, and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door. The sound of running water began, and Sam could hear vague mumbling about sissy brothers who won't hunt with the sniffles.

Sam leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. He understood Dean's restlessness, he really did. But he also knew that hunting while sick meant an increased chance of death. He wasn't fond of dying….been there, done that, watched it, hated it. So if it was within his power to limit the possibility of death or a major injury, he'd do it.

He returned his attention to his laptop and re-read an email from Bobby containing a fresh list of hunts in the area. Maybe he could find something that would appease his brother's need to do something, while allowing them to take it easy.

He noticed that the sound of running water stopped. Within a couple minutes, Dean shuffled out of the bathroom, shooting Sam a sour look before rummaging through a duffel bag.

Sam picked up the mug Dean bought him a couple weeks ago and took a sip of hot tea as he continued to read. The first hunt was another spirit, but this one was a cranky old librarian who was haunting a university library.

Sam jumped as he heard something crash to the ground. "_Godfuckingdammit_!"

Sam looked up to see that Dean dropped their bag of weapons on the floor. He was bent over, trying to shove various knives, hooks, pipes, and other pieces back into the bag. Everything clanged together in a cacophony of metal against metal. Sam winced at every sound. Finally, Dean zipped the bag closed and stood up.

He caught Sam staring at him, and gave a sheepish smile. "Um...sorry about that…" He lifted the heavy bag and promptly dropped it again, bending almost double as he coughed into the crook of his arm. Sam hurried over to guide Dean towards his bed before he fell. Dean waved him off as he caught his breath. "M'fine, Sammy…go back to your...whatever you're doing." He sat heavily and wiped the sweat on his brow.

Sam looked thoughtfully at him for a moment. A spirit in a quiet library full of students studying and crabby librarians. Yeah, that's off the list.

Sam sat back down and looked at the next hunt. Poltergeist...Sam straightened in his chair and read on. About five hours away, there was a small grocery store that sold all kinds of exotic spices and herbs. A poltergeist was disrupting their business, throwing merchandise all over the store, at customers, and even into the street.

"Sh….shit…" Sam looked up to see Dean explode with sneezing. Sam's eyes widened in alarm when he realized Dean just wasn't stopping. Sam quickly brought him Kleenex and kept a hand on his back as sneeze after sneeze ripped from Dean's exhausted body.

Eventually the fit passed, and Dean flopped back on the bed with a loud groan. "Holy fuck…" He blew his nose with trembling hands and just let the used wad drop to the floor.

So….an enclosed space whose air is contaminated with the smell of spices and herbs combined with Dean's already sensitive sinuses. Another one off the list.

Sam went back to the table and leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes, dragging a hand down his face and pulling at his chin. He froze for a second...shit, that was such a Dean-ism. He shook his head and went back to the computer screen.

The last chance at escape was a bit odd. According to Bobby, a family not far outside of Sioux Falls reported seeing strange creatures in their backyard at night. They insisted the creatures were fairies, flitting across their yard in the early hours of the morning. Bobby didn't say whether the "fairies" were causing problems or just hanging out. Either way, it looked like they'd have to sit and watch the yard for hours until they showed.

Sam chewed on his lip thoughtfully. They could convince the family to leave the house, or at least let them perform the stake-out inside. They'd just need to sit there for a while, not do anything strenuous or dangerous, and closely watch the yard for hours until the things appeared. He nodded slowly. This was a perfect compromise.

"Hey Dean…." Sam started, as he typed in the coordinates to get an exact location.

There was no answer.

"Dean…?" Sam looked up and huffed a laugh. Dean was still sprawled on the bed, one arm dangling over the side where he dropped his used Kleenex. His head was turned to the side, eyes closed, and his chest rose and fell in a peaceful rhythm.

Sam quietly closed the laptop and pulled a blanket over his sleeping brother. He crawled into his own bed, and turned off the light.

==end==


End file.
